


Winter’s Grasp

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Change of season [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gifts, Lyriumchristmas, M/M, Pining, Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension, pre-fenders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: Fenris tries to find the courage to confront Anders about the meaning behind his gift.
Sequel to 'Winter’s Quiet' and 'Winter’s Dearest'. The parts can be read separately, although this one is probably going to make more sense if you’ve read Winter’s Dearest. There will be one more part after this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the #lyriumchristmas campaign on tumblr. Today’s prompt: ‘Gift giving’

The word kept circling through Fenris’ mind all week, a constant backdrop to his every thought and action. _Special_. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get it out of his head. Or his heart. He was only too aware of how dangerous it was to hope, yet hope simply refused to be silenced, stubbornly clinging to the warmth, the vibrant dream the word carried with it. And just as incessantly, hope kept replaying what his friends had said…They had been so sure. But that was no guarantee they were right.

There was only one way to find out.

He would storm into the clinic, with his head held high, and demand to know the meaning behind the gift. If Anders confessed, perhaps even blushing a little, Fenris would hold his gaze and say “I have no gift to give to you. Only myself. If that is acceptable.” And if the mage then threw himself into his arms, he would pull him close and kiss him the way he had dreamed of for so long. The way that was a promise. Fenris would hold him tight and tell him he would never let him go. 

He did none of those things.

He let day after day go by, and with each one, uncertainty grew new roots, fresh worries eluded his grasp, slippery like sea-smoothed pebbles. Had Anders truly confessed to him? Perhaps he had merely understood what Fenris had so clumsily tried to tell him on Winter’s Quiet; perhaps this gift had been given as a consolation, a kindness, because Anders did not wish for the same things. Or…had he indeed answered the question Fenris hadn’t known how to ask with an answer he did not have to give? Had he counted on Fenris knowing what it meant? But if he had, why had he never mentioned Winter’s Dearest? Why had _no one_ ever mentioned it? Why had his friends left him in the dark to mock him after the fact? If only he had known… He wouldn’t have let the opportunity to get the mage a gift pass him by. He would have shown him he was special. Perhaps he still could. Could it not still mean something, even if it was offered on the wrong day?

 

 

Diamondback came. As Fenris had hoped, the mage smiled when he saw him wearing the socks and sweater. _What does it mean_? Fenris wanted to ask. Instead, he nodded in greeting and offered him a drink. They played for several hours and somehow, Varric didn’t make a single innuendo. Although, considering Fenris had on numerous occasions felt kicking under the table, ‘somehow’ might have well been Donnic. At last, their friends left. Anders lingered.

“I have something for you, mage.” _I should have given it to you last week._ The words wouldn’t come. What if the others had been wrong?

“Oh?” Anders looked up, his face a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement.

Fenris handed him his gift, nervously watching his expression for even the slightest change. There were changes, yet they weren’t slight. As the mage turned the gift in his hand, everything about him seemed to soften. He smiled the way he so rarely did, the way that made the sun rise on his face.

“This is…this is from the Black Emporium. I’ve always wanted one like it…”

“I know. You stare at it every time Hawke drags us there. If I recall correctly, you said it was ‘The staff that tells everyone else they can suck it’.” _Special_. _Just like you_. “You also proclaimed you would buy it once you managed to win enough coin from us, but,” he smirked, “I thought it better not to wait for a miracle. It should serve you well. And…the colour matches your coat.” _Something to always keep at your side. To protect you._

“Thank you, Fenris. It’s perfect, it really is. But…you didn’t have to get me a gift just because I gave you one. You don’t owe me anything.”

_I do. It was Winter's Dearest, was it not?_ “I wanted to. I...like the clothes.” He cursed the blush creeping into his cheeks. “They are…soft.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Anders said, giving him another smile, different but no less beautiful. “And I’m glad you’re wearing them. They really do like good on you.” He turned the staff over in his hands. “Although I’m afraid they were a rather shabby gift compared to _this_.”

Fenris shook his head. “No.They are special to me.”

He saw the flicker in Anders’ eyes, the subtle twitch of his mouth. He knew this was the moment to ask. _Were they a…special gift?_

He remained silent.

And kissed him.

_What am I to you?_ He brushed a hand though the mage’s hair.

_Does this mean as much to you as it does to me?_ He let it trail down his chest.

_I never thought I would enjoy this, would experience it as an act of pleasure._ He unlaced his trousers.

_But you make it feel like something we share, not humiliation_. He looked up, mouth full of more than the words he could not say.

_You are not who I thought you were._ He closed his eyes and lost himself in taste and movement, the sound of Anders’ moans and the sensation of fingers in his hair, too frantic to be gentle, but never so rough as to hurt.

_Do you even know what you are giving me_? The same fingers, soft as feathers against his eyelids, a ragged voice asking him to open his eyes. The mage’s naked gaze on his, the thrill of intrusion, all of him yielding, yearning. And Anders’, never as vulnerable, as exposed, as in these moments.

_I did not know another's arms could feel like home_. He let himself be pulled up into a kiss, an embrace as soft as it was steady keeping him safe.

_Things…hurt less when I am with you._ He wrapped himself around Anders, steering him towards the bed, pushing him on top of it.

_I cherish our nights, these small escapes we allow ourselves._ Tore off clothes, the mage’s, his own, dived into the warmth of his skin, the hunger of his touch.

_And yet I cannot deny I dream of more._ Fenris straddled him, locked their gazes and opened his mouth. The words still would not come.

_You could stay._ He let the silence be swallowed by another kiss.

_We could fall asleep together_. Anders wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him flush against him, breaking silence and kiss alike with croaked pleas for more.

_Wake up together_. Fenris ignored the mage’s begging, his frequent curses and urgent movements. He took his time to prepare him, to pleasure and tease. To look at his face.

_We could share time filled with neither sex nor fighting_. He could not tear his gaze away. Through the first, careful movements, the frantic ones, through the abyss of safety and pleasure that was Anders’ touch, the heat of his body, he kept looking.

_You would give me that smile you guard so closely._ He was staring still, overflowing with everything he could neither contain nor let out, as Anders came undone beneath him. So real in this moment. His. Only in this moment.

_And if you let me..._

_…I would remain at your side._

 

 

They lay entangled, catching their breath. It was late, the candles burnt down, the fire barely more than embers. Too soon, the moment came. Anders got up. For one eternal second, Fenris feared he would not do it, but then he bent down and kissed the top of his head in the wordless Goodbye that had become yet another of their weekly rituals. The first time he had done it, several months after their first night, Fenris heart had clenched in an unfamiliar way, and he had been left to wonder how such a small gesture could cause so much turmoil. And joy.

_Don’t leave. Please. Stay with me._ He kept his head on the pillow, as he had every time.

The mage’s footsteps receded. And came to a halt. The soft hum of magic against his brands. The fire flared back to life. Fenris could picture him standing there, face painted in gold and regret. Anders resumed walking. Away from him.

_You are the one I want at my side, mage_. _Through every season._ Still he lay there, frozen as if in Winter’s grasp. And let him leave. A hoarse whisper all he managed to send his way.

“Thank you…Anders. For keeping me warm.”

A soft voice from the door. “Any time, Fenris.”


End file.
